


Slippery When Wet

by Morgan Briarwood (morgan32)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-19
Updated: 2009-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-02 08:03:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan32/pseuds/Morgan%20Briarwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wants one good night's sleep. Dean wants to get Sam drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slippery When Wet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [whosjeebus](http://whosjeebus.livejournal.com/) who asked for _the winchester boys bunking in a NICE hotel for a change, drunk off their asses and hot-tubbing it. hot, wet, steamy, slick, inebriated SMEX, por favor._ CJ, this isn't exactly what you asked for, but I managed to beat something fairly close out of my muse. Enjoy!

"Dude, I'm not arguing," Sam insisted, raising his voice to be heard about the music and the rain pounding on the Impala's roof. "I'm telling you facts. If we're gonna spend the night crawling through mud in the rain, I'm not coming back to some crappy motel. I want a real bath and a comfortable bed."

"We can't afford it." Dean reached out to change the tape.

"Dean, you've got nearly three grand in your bag," Sam pointed out. Dean had been on a winning streak in his poker game the previous night. The men he hustled were not happy about Dean leaving with their money, but Dean excelled at quick getaways.

Dean grinned, still buoyed by the memory. "Alright. _You_ can't afford it." He slid a new tape into the stereo and hit the play button.

Sam switched the tape off. "You're the one who wanted to hunt yeth hounds in a freaking swamp." He grabbed Dean's bag from the back seat. "C'mon, Dean. Wouldn't you like to sleep in luxury, just once?" He allowed the smallest hint of wheedling to slip into his voice (it always worked when they were kids). "Think about it, man. Cotton sheets. Room service."

Dean turned the tape on again. He didn't answer Sam, but he _did_ drive to the Hilton. He pulled into the hotel parking lot and left the engine idling. "Make it fast, Sammy. The night's a'wasting."

Sam stared at him for a moment, then rummaged in the bag and found the roll of money Dean won. Dean didn't try to stop him, so Sam pocketed the money and climbed out of the Impala. He walked up to the clean, shiny doors of the hotel.

He felt out of place just stepping on to the marble floor, and Sam knew he _ looked_ out of place. He half-expected to be ordered out by the doorman, but he made it to the reception desk without any trouble.

The woman behind the desk was close to his age. She smiled helpfully. "May I help you, sir?"

_Sir?_ Sam smiled back awkwardly. "I think you can. I need a room." Thinking of Dean, and of payback, he added, "A special room."

Ten minutes later, he walked out of the hotel with considerably less cash, but a key in his pocket and a big smile on his face.

***

It was past 3am when they were done with the hunt and Sam was every bit as wet and filthy as he dreaded. The yeth hounds - shape-changing spectral dogs that killed any human they perceived as invading their territory - turned out to be a much bigger pack than they anticipated. The hounds were vulnerable to salt, but you had to hit them twice: head and heart. Not easy, hunting through swampland on a moonless night.

If Sam was dirty, Dean was worse. Dean was the one who followed the last yeth hound into a sinkhole and found himself literally up to his neck in thick, sticky mud. All the way to the hotel, Dean groused about the mess they were making of his precious car, and he was right, despite the plastic sheets they spread over the seats.

It was still raining when they finally reached the hotel and Sam shivered as cold rain seeped under his collar and down his back. He pulled Dean's clean coat out of his bag. "Put this on."

"You want me to strip in the parking lot?"

"No, Dean, put it on over your clothes. I already paid for the room. Let's just get inside and we can both clean up." Sam was a mess himself, but Dean was dripping mud. Sam didn't want them to be stopped on the way in.

Dean grumbled about laundry as he pulled the coat on and slammed the door of the Impala. He left a trail of muddy footprints as he followed Sam into the hotel.

The doorman did look at them suspiciously, but Sam showed him their room key and he let them in.

"At least tell me you got a room with a bathtub," Dean groaned as Sam pushed the elevator button for the tenth floor.

Sam grinned smugly. "Bathtub. Unlimited hot water. Room service. Admit it, dude. This was a good idea."

"Yeah. Maybe."

Sam opened the door to the room and stepped back to let Dean enter first. Dean walked through the door and stopped, dripping mud onto the deep red carpet. His eyes went wide. Sam moved into the room, enjoying Dean's reaction. "I thought," he said, "we could do with one really good night."

"You're crazy, little brother." Dean turned to him and grinned. "Good call."

The room was huge. Floor-to-ceiling drapes filled one wall, the same deep red as the carpet. There was an orgy-sized bed, a large television and mini-bar…and there was more, but Dean had spotted the door to the bathroom and was heading for it. Sam didn't blame him. The smell of the swamp was kinda strong. He dumped their bags near the bed and decided he'd better undress in the bathroom himself. It would be easier to clean up.

The bathroom was almost as big as the bedroom. There was a large sunken bathtub easily big enough for two. Dean was already in the shower, his clothing in an untidy heap on the floor. Sam stripped off his clothing and left it beside Dean's. He joined Dean in the shower.

"Hey!" Dean protested.

"It'll be quicker, and I want to be in bed before dawn. Pass the soap."

***

This was one of Sam's better ideas, Dean decided. He wasn't going to tell Sam that, of course. Dean did feel so much better for a hot shower. There were things in that goddamn freezing swamp mud that got into parts of his body where they really didn't belong. Now he was warm, clean and wearing a white terrycloth robe supplied by the hotel. Dean sprawled on the huge bed, stole the mint from Sam's pillow and reached for the TV remote.

Before Dean could explore the porn options, a knock on the door announced the arrival of room service. Dean went to the door eagerly. He was surprised they were so happy to cook at this hour. It probably reflected what Sam paid for the room. Sam should have used a credit card instead of Dean's hard-earned cash. But what the hell. This was worth it.

The waiter (was that the right word?) delivered their pre-dawn supper on a large wheeled table with the food on plates covered with silver lids. Dean thought they only served food like that in cartoons. He watched the waiter set the table: he lifted the table flaps, set out cutlery and glasses, removed the silver lids. He even set out chairs. Dean tipped the man, because it would be conspicuous if he didn't. (Rule #3: Never draw unnecessary attention.)

As the waiter left, Dean hung the do-not-disturb on the door. "Sam! Food!" he called. He didn't wait for his brother, but sat down at the table. He poured himself a whiskey and tucked into his steak.

Sam joined him a few moments later, clean, shaved and with his wet hair combed back out of his eyes. "Ah, that's better," he sighed. "This was a good idea."

"One of your better notions, Sammy," Dean agreed contentedly. He was feeling good. A successful hunt, a hot shower, a great meal and a ten-year-old whiskey. What more could he ask for? Maybe a frisky waitress to snuggle up with… It was nearly four-thirty in the morning but Dean was energised instead of tired. He looked across the table to Sam in his terrycloth robe. Sam cut into his chicken and ate a bite. He caught Dean watching him but said nothing.

Yeah. Maybe there was one thing more. Dean poured whiskey for Sam.

Sam drank it. "Mm, this chicken is great. I really want to try out that bed."

Dean leered at him. "Me, too."

Sam grinned back at him. "Yeah, I know how you get after a hunt." It sounded like a promise.

They continued eating, making small talk. Dean kept refilling Sam's whiskey glass. Sam usually called it quits after two. He could hold his alcohol - all the Winchester men could - but Sam didn't enjoy being drunk. Tonight he either didn't notice that his glass never got empty or he didn't care. Dean matched his brother glass for glass until the bottle was empty.

***

Sam tasted of whiskey. A nicely drunk Sam, clumsily pushing the robe from Dean's shoulders, was enough of a novelty to seriously turn Dean on. Sammy was right: Dean was always extra-horny after a hunt. He was already hard as rock, just from Sam's kiss. He shrugged off the robe and took Sam's head between his hands, running his fingers through Sam's still-wet hair.

"I know what you want," Sam slurred against Dean's mouth.

His hot tongue licked Dean's lower lip. It drew a small sound from Dean and he pushed Sam lower, showing Sam he was right. Sam laughed softly and his arm snaked around Dean's waist as his teeth sank into Dean's neck.

Dean gasped, arching into the sweet pain. He fell back onto the bed, pulling Sam with him. Sam pressed his body into Dean's, moving his mouth from Dean's neck, lower, slow and teasing. Sometimes he kissed, his tongue leaving hot trails on Dean's flesh. Sometimes a bite: short, sharp pain leaving marks. Dean gasped and writhed beneath him, trapped under Sam's body and his big hands.

Sam reached Dean's dick at last and took the hard flesh into his mouth, and Dean felt just the edge of his teeth.

"God, Sammy!" Dean gripped Sam's shoulders, his fingers convulsing as Sam's tongue swirled around his cock. Sam, his mouth never leaving Dean's cock, reached up to grip Dean's wrists, gently moving his hands to his sides. Dean was trapped, Sam holding him down, Sam straddling one of Dean's legs. Sam's hot, hungry mouth sliding down his dick. Dean felt the scrape of Sam's teeth again and though he knew Sam wouldn't bite him, not _there_, the implied threat stole Dean's breath and he thrust into Sam's mouth.

"Jesus…fuck!"

Sam lifted his head, letting Dean's dick slide from between his lips, gazing up Dean's body with hooded eyes. He smiled, and there was something wicked in that smile.

"Sam, if you tease me now, I swear…"

Sam's smile became, if possible, even more wicked. A delicious shiver ran down Dean's spine, not quite fear, because he trusted Sam, but something close to that. In this position he was trapped, at Sam's mercy. The thought arched his back, pooled heat in his groin.

"Sam, please…"

Sam laughed. And pushed two fingers into Dean's ass.

When the hell did Sam get lubed up? The question flittered into Dean's mind and was gone before he could grope for an answer because Sam's fingers moved, unerringly finding that spot inside him. Sam's mouth engulfed him again and Dean's vision whited out.

_Holy fuck!_ Sam swallowed around him, milking Dean dry as he climaxed. It left Dean a boneless heap on the bed, unable to move or even think clearly.

Sam crawled up the bed, pushing Dean's legs apart with his knee. He leaned down to kiss Dean and Dean tasted his own come in his brother's mouth.

"Jesus, Sam." Dean whispered the words against Sam's mouth. "You're so fucking hot."

"Mm-hm." Sam licked his lips. "I'm not done yet."

Sam shifted above Dean and with no further warning he began to slide into Dean's body. With so little preparation it hurt, but it hurt so _good_. Dean didn't get off on pain but when he was this turned on, and when it was Sam…_his_ Sam…

Sam. Sam filling him, the slow burn of Sam's dick stretching him open and _ oh, Jesus, yes, right there…_

After, Sam lay on top of Dean, his breath warm on Dean's neck. Dean gazed up at the ceiling. He shifted; Sam's weight was becoming uncomfortable.

"Remind me," Dean said, "to get you drunk again."

Sam rolled off him. "Jerk."

"What? That was fun, Sammy."

"I noticed." Sam's voice was heavy with sleep and he yawned.

Three minutes later, both brothers were sound asleep.

***

Sam woke and immediately wished he hadn't. Knives of light stabbed into his eyes. He turned his head away, groaning as he tugged the pillow from beneath his head and covered his face with it, blocking out the light.

_Crap! How much did I drink last night?_ Sam wondered. Pieces of the night came back to him: tramping through the swamp, killing the pack of yeth hounds, pulling Dean out of the quicksand. Yes, they'd been hunting. Obviously, they reached the hotel in one piece… Oh. Yeah. Dean ordered room service…and whiskey. Well, that explained Sam's hangover.

Great. Just great.

Cautiously, Sam lifted the pillow off his face. He squinted to shield his eyes from the light and looked around the room. Dean lay beside him, sprawled on his front, apparently still asleep. Sam sat up slowly. He clutched his head as the room swam and pain rolled over him. _Oh, god... This is why I don't fucking drink._

Careful not to disturb Dean, Sam slipped out of the bed. He knelt on the carpet and searched through his bag. After a hundred years of painful rummaging, he found the bottle of painkillers and swallowed a couple dry. Then he scrambled up and ran for the bathroom as a wave of nausea caught him.

He didn't throw up, but it was a near thing. Sam took several deep breaths, leaning weakly over the sink, before splashing some cold water on his face. It helped, a little. _I'll never drink again,_ he promised his throbbing head, but it wasn't the first time he'd sworn that particular vow. Sam sat on the edge of the toilet, waiting for his stomach to settle. While he sat there, his eyes were drawn to the bathtub, again and again.

Sam rubbed his chin, feeling the stubble. There was no way he was going to shave; he'd cut himself to pieces in this state. A bath might help, though. He felt stiff and sore from the hunt and the night's sex; a hot, relaxing bath was a good idea. Dean would make fun of him for weeks, though.

Sam decided he didn't care and started filling the bath. He found the little basket of complimentary toiletries that these hotels always seemed to supply and added a scented oil to the hot water. Dean was going to tease him anyway; he might as well supply the ammunition.

Finally, Sam sank into the warm water. He lay back, resting his neck on the rim of the bathtub and let the heat leech the ache from his muscles. It did feel good. Sam closed his eyes. He licked his lips, remembering the taste of Dean's come and the delicious tightness of his ass.

Cold hands grasped Sam's shoulders. Adrenaline flooded his veins and Sam jerked away with a shout and a loud splash.

Dean laughed. "You're such a girl, Sammy."

"You dick!" Sam felt his face heat, embarrassed. Had he really fallen asleep? Then he realised his headache was better. Not gone, but better. And Dean was still laughing at him…but he was standing within reach. Sam moved fast, grabbing Dean's legs and yanking him into the bathtub.

Dean yelled, half-twisted as he fell and landed inelegantly with a huge splash. Water and bubbles sloshed onto the bathroom floor.

Sam laughed.

Dean came up spluttering, his robe soaking wet and clinging to him. "I'll…get you for that," he threatened, though it wasn't particularly scary with Dean on his knees in soapy water.

Dean shook his head like a dog to get rid of the water dripping in his eyes. Then he moved toward Sam, slowly, on his knees, the gleam in his eyes somewhere between _I'm-gonna-fuck-you-senseless_ and _I'm-gonna-rip-your-guts-out_.

When Sam didn't try to escape, Dean smiled. He rested his hands on the bathtub's rim, trapping Sam against it, his body close, but not touching Sam.

_Payback time,_ Sam thought, and felt his cock swell. He couldn't help glancing down to see if Dean had an erection, too. Dean's wet robe hid the evidence.

Dean caught him looking. His eyes narrowed and he straightened up, stripping off the robe and dumping it over the side of the tub. He reached for Sam. They kissed and Dean pushed his tongue lazily into Sam's mouth. One of his hands wrapped around Sam's dick, stroking him slowly beneath the water.

Sam let out an involuntary moan.

"Eager, Sammy," Dean teased.

"Damn right." Sam reached for him, but Dean caught his wrists.

"My turn, dude," he said firmly, in a voice that made Sam shiver with anticipation. Dean wanted to play. This could be fun.

He allowed Dean to pin his hands against the rim of the bathtub.

"Hold on and don't let go," Dean instructed.

Sam, breathless, obeyed. He enjoyed the glint in his brother's green eyes. Sam was backed against the edge of the bathtub, up to his waist in warm water, with Dean kneeling between his legs. The tub was large enough for two, but there wasn't much room for either of them to move, and the position wasn't ideal for fucking. What was Dean going to do? Sam couldn't guess what he had in mind, but he was sure he was going to like it. He gripped the rim of the bathtub and waited.

For a moment, Dean simply looked at Sam. Then he grinned, took a deep breath, and ducked under the water.

Oh, god, he wasn't going to…

Dean's hands curled around Sam's hips and his mouth closed over Sam's dick. Under the water…Jesus… It was the oddest feeling, because the water was almost exactly the temperature of Dean's mouth. Then Sam felt suction and the bubbles of Dean's breath against his skin.

_Oh, god, Dean…_

Sam knew Dean couldn't stay down there for long. He gripped the bathtub, struggling to keep his body still, fighting not to thrust into Dean's mouth. And then he felt Dean push him away and Dean burst out of the water, gasping for air.

Sam, worried, reached for Dean, helping him up, steadying him while his gasping cough turned to helpless laughter.

"It ain't as easy as it looks in the movies," he announced.

"Dude, you're crazy! You coulda drowned yourself down there!"

Dean wiped water from his eyes. "I'm…okay." He coughed again but sat back on his heels with a smug grin and Sam quit worrying.

He just stared. Rivulets of water ran down Dean's face and neck, over his shoulders and chest, delineating every curve, every muscle. Sunlight streamed through the bathroom window, giving the steam now filling the room a silver glow, and the bright steam curled around Dean like a halo. The vision lasted only for a moment, but it stopped Sam's breath, tightening his body and filling him with one thought: _Mine. He's mine_.

The next moment Dean moved and that trick of the light was gone. Sam wondered where that possessive thought came from because he wasn't that way with Dean. He never had been. His mind was just weird, Sam decided. He could screw his brother senseless and never think it was strange or wrong, but noticing that Dean was smokin' hot gave him a minor freak-out. But Dean _was_ hot; there was no getting around that.

"The look on your face," Dean said.

"Just thinkin'," Sam muttered, reaching up to Dean.

"Well, quit it. You think too much, college boy."

They came together in the cooling water. Sam ran his hands up Dean's back as they kissed, gathering water into his palms. His fingers kneaded Dean's shoulders, pulling him closer.

"Let's go back to bed," Sam begged. He rubbed his dick against Dean's groin.

Dean pushed him back into the water. "I think we'll stay right here."

"Dude, it's getting cold."

Dean leaned over him, his hand slowly stroking Sam's dick. "Unless I'm losin' my touch, Sammy, you ain't gonna notice."

_Sure, but won't the bed be more comfortable?_ It was hard to think clearly with Dean fisting his cock like that. _You're right…what's a little cold water?_ He didn't want to move. Just stay here and come into Dean's hand…

"Turn around, Sam. I want to fuck you."

That made the bed seem like a good idea again, but Sam rolled over in the water, too turned on to care about bruised knees. Dean moved close to him, arranging Sam's body the way he wanted it. He pushed Sam's legs widely apart, and leaned over Sam, the heat of his body a delicious counterpoint to the air on Sam's wet skin.

Dean ran his hands down Sam's arms to his wrists, and placed Sam's hands back on the rim of the bathtub. "This time, don't let go," he murmured against Sam's ear.

"Yes, sir." Sam's response was a little sarcastic.

Dean smacked his buttock lightly. "Don't ‘sir' me, Sammy. I'm not Dad. Just do as you're told."

Sam couldn't explain why that made him shiver, his cock bouncing on the surface of the water. He gripped the smooth bathtub rim and waited, impatiently.

Dean's hands, his usually rough skin softened by the water, parted Sam's buttocks. He pressed one finger gently into Sam's anus. It was too slow for Sam and he pushed back. Dean withdrew his finger.

"Dean, come on!"

"When I'm ready." Dean's voice was a whisper, his breath warm on the skin of Sam's ass. Sam knew what he was going to do an instant before he felt Dean's tongue. Dean licked between Sam's buttocks as if the soapy water clinging to him were something sweet.

"Oh, god…" Sam breathed.

Dean rimmed him expertly, firm strokes of his tongue circling Sam's hole, probing the most private parts of him. It was the most intimate kiss imaginable, and Sam couldn't help pushing back into Dean's hot tongue. He had to bite his lip to keep from begging for more. It felt amazing. The heat of Dean's breath, the firm, strong pressure. Sam knew what Dean was tasting because he had done this for him…

It was that thought - a sense-memory of Dean's taste suddenly as vivid as reality - that made Sam's body jerk, his spine arching, his hands gripping the bathtub until his fingers hurt. It was a struggle to keep from coming just from this, just from Dean's tongue thrusting shallowly into his ass.

"Please," Sam groaned, not even sure what he was begging for. "Please, Dean, oh, god, please!"

Dean did something with his tongue that made Sam cry out wordlessly and then with a last, long taste he moved away. A moment later, Dean's fingers pushed into Sam again. God, what a relief! There was no teasing this time. Dean was using something as lube - soap, maybe, or shampoo. It was working, whatever it was. Dean pushed his fingers inside, stretching Sam open.

It still wasn't enough. "Dean, just do it. Fuck me. I don't care if it hurts."

"_I_ do. Just wait, Sam."

Dean's fingers working in him…god…slow torture… Sam had forgotten the cooling water, the hard and slippery bathtub beneath his knees. Even his hangover. Everything except Dean, his brother, his lover, his only family…and a sadistic bastard who knew damned well that Sam wanted to skip the foreplay. Dean's fingers curled inside him and found his prostate, drawing a frustrated yell from Sam because it was so damn good but not enough, not quite enough. He wanted - needed - Dean to fuck him, hard.

"Dean!"

Dean stroked Sam's back, soothing. He spoke quietly. "Okay, Sammy. It's okay."

"Dean…" He could feel Dean moving behind him.

"Just getting' the condom, dude. Gimme a second."

"Are you _trying_ to drive me crazy?" Sam demanded.

And Dean, the sonofabitch, actually laughed. "Yeah," he admitted.

"Fuck you," Sam responded irritably, his need overriding his mouth. Then he corrected himself. "No, fuck me. _Now_, dude, or I'm gonna take you back to that swamp and throw you in head first."

"Ooh, talk dirty to me, baby." Dean started to push into Sam, and Sam quit complaining.

It felt amazing; Dean always did. He slid home in one, slow stroke, filling Sam completely. "God…Sam…" For all Dean's teasing, there was no laughter in either of them when they finally fucked. Sam felt the tremors of strain in Dean's muscles as he neared climax and for a moment Sam thought Dean was going to come without him.

Dean's hand, slick with soap, closed over Sam's cock and stroked him, exactly right, hard and fast. Sam cried out and thrust into Dean's hand. He needed to come, needed Dean's touch more than he needed to breathe. He could think of nothing else. As he came, Sam's grip on the bathtub rim slipped and all the strength seemed to drain from his legs.

It was too late to steady himself. Sam's knees slipped from under him and he fell, Dean on top of him, into what was left of the water. It was cold.

Dean fell with him. Sam was trapped under his brother's body, sprawled awkwardly in the bathtub. He heard Dean swear as he tried, clumsily, to get up. For a moment they struggled against each other. Finally, both laughing, they managed to untangle themselves and clamber out.

Sam reached for a towel. "Well, that was…different."

Dean grinned at him. "Yeah. So, what do you think? Breakfast? Or shall we hit the road?"

The suggestion reminded Sam of their hunt the night before, and Dean falling into the swamp. He wrapped the towel around his waist. "Breakfast, I think. We've got to clean the car before we can hit the road."

Dean stared at him, then started swearing. Evidently he'd forgotten the state of the Impala after their adventure in the swamp.

Sam followed his brother from the bathroom, wondering if Dean might want to stay here another night. After all, getting all that mud out of the Impala was going to be a lot of hard work.


End file.
